It was the summer of 1972 and you were alive. You were young and free, living the rock 'n' roll life and loving it. You went to a show at a bar, where a rising band, The Winters, was playing. You enjoyed the music and had a good time before leaving, going to find another place to drink at when you bumped into the lead singer, smoking, leaned against the wall.

You'd thought he was hot onstage, sure, but he looks even hotter now. His overgrown hair was a little sweaty and the top three buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a generous amount of his muscular chest. He looked over at you and smirked.

"Hey," he said.

You smiled back. "You know that's bad for you right?" you said, nodding to the cigarette in his hand.

"Yeah, princess," he said. "I'm aware."